Redeem

by Rachel Schurig

  “I’ll come later,” I tell her. “Go have fun.”

  She rolls her eyes at me and heads out to the dance floor, and Cash and I are alone.

  “So,” he says, leaning across the table. “How was your first Ransom show?”

  “Amazing,” I say automatically. “Best show ever.”

  He smirks. “You should hear us with electric instruments.”

  “I hope I get the chance to.”

  His gaze is intense on mine, his smirk slowly fading into a more serious look. “I hope so, too.”

  I play with the edge of my glass, suddenly shy.

  “When will you record?” I ask.

  He frowns a little, as if considering. “I think we’re still a few months out.”

  “So you won’t be touring for a while.”

  He shakes his head. “We should have some time.”

  I like the sound of that. I wonder where he’ll spend that time.

  “There’s a chance we might do a full world tour this time.”

  My head snaps up to look at him. “Yeah?”

  He looks cautiously excited. “Yeah. We’ve played some shows overseas—mostly in the UK. But we’ve never done a full tour outside of the States.”

  “That sounds amazing.”

  “Right? It’s one of the only things that we haven’t done yet, you know? One of those dreams that hasn’t quite come true yet.”

  “Well, I hope it happens, then.” I don’t really like to think about him on the other side of the world but I push the thought away. It’s months away—and it’s not like I have a claim on him.

  “What about you?” he asks. “What dreams haven’t come true for you yet, Sam?”

  I don’t even have to think about it. “I want Wyatt to live with me.”

  He nods. “I thought you would say that. So what’s stopping you?”

  I stare down at the glass in my hands. “The Warners are protective. Of both of us. They want to make sure I’m…ready, I guess. That I don’t mess it up again.”

  I chance a glance at him to see him frowning. “Is there a timeline for when that might happen?”

  I shake my head and his frown grows. “No game plan?”

  “Not really.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a very good way to go about things. What, are they expecting you to just magically wake up perfect someday?”

  “I don’t know.” I’m starting to wish he had never asked. Anytime I think too hard about what it might take to get Wyatt back I start to feel sick.

  “Well, what if you started slowly?” he asks, apparently not ready to drop it. “Like, have him start staying overnights?”

  “I mentioned that to Bruce once,” I say but he shakes his head, cutting me off.

  “You need to make a plan,” he says, his eyes intent on mine. “You need to come up with a list of suggestions—like, one overnight a week to start. As a trial. And then go from there. And you need to do more than mention it to them—you need to sit them down and hash it all out.”

  The thought of doing that makes my stomach flip and I think he must realize how scared I am because he reaches across the table to take my hand. “You can do that, Sam. I know you can.”

  “I don’t know. There’s still a big part of me that hasn’t accepted that I’ve improved at all.”

  “Tell that part of you to fuck off.”

  I laugh. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  He squeezes my hand. “Seriously. You’re ready for this.”

  I stare into his eyes, the familiar dark blue comforting and sure. “You think so?”

  “I know it.”

  I feel a wave of assurance wash over me. Somehow, I believe him. There’s something about being with Cash that makes me see things differently—makes me see myself differently. And it feels really good.

  “Dance with me,” I say suddenly, wanting the feeling to continue, wanting to be close to him, for tonight at least. He doesn’t hesitate, standing without releasing my hand and pulling me to the dance floor.

  “I’d be happy to, Sam.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cash

  I wake up late in the morning on Saturday feeling happy—which is kind of weird for me, since I usually greet the morning with a zombie-like torpor until I get some food in my stomach. But this day I lie in bed for a few minutes, a goofy ass smile on my face. We did it. The label execs were blown away by the set, telling us it was the best work we’d ever done. How could I not wake up happy a day after hearing that shit? Even Dad had been satisfied. He hadn’t even said anything to me about the DUI, even though this was the first time we’d been face to face since my arrest.

  A flash of Sam’s face jumps to my mind, the way she had watched the performance so wide-eyed, her mouth open a little bit, like she was impressed as hell. It felt good. Every time I looked up from my guitar I would find my gaze flickering across the crowd until I found her. Inevitably her eyes would be glued to me, like she never looked away for a second the entire time we were playing.

  It hadn’t just felt good—it felt fucking awesome.

  It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to capturing the attention of a girl at one of our shows. Hell, it was usually hundreds of girls, their eyes glued to me, screaming out my name, yelling obscenities about what they wanted to do to me. I’d be lying if I said that shit didn’t give me an ego. I thrived on it, used that adoration to fuel my performance, to give me the energy I needed to get through playing the same song for the fiftieth time on a long, grueling tour. Those were the moments that made it all worth it, knowing that I had the crowd in the palm of my hand. It always felt good to me, those screams, that rapt attention, that overt proof that these fans loved us.

  But it had never felt as good as Sam’s silent, intense scrutiny.

  As I pull myself out of bed, there’s a little voice in the back of my head telling me that I should be worried. That this thing with Sam is nearing obsession. That I’m in real danger of heading down a very uncharacteristic path.

  But then I remember my resolve in the ice cream parlor bathroom, the defiant conclusion that I could make this work, that I could show everyone who had pigeon-holed me in the same little box until I was little more than a stereotype, a character. Feeling slightly pissed, and a lot determined, I head downstairs in search of coffee and sustenance.

  I meet Daisy in the kitchen, hunched over a bowl of cereal. “You’re up early.”

  “It’s almost eleven, Dais.”

  “Yeah, but that’s early for you. Especially when you’ve been out drinking.”

  I grab a mug and start to pour my coffee when her words sink in. It is unusual for me to be up before noon after a night of drinking. It’s also unusual for me to wake up without a raging hangover.

  I take my coffee to the table, grabbing a bowl and the milk on the way, and help myself to the cereal box in front of her. “I guess I didn’t party as hard as I normally do.”

  She nods at me and there’s something like a glint in her eyes that it doesn’t take an idiot to read. I didn’t party hard because I was with Sam. Sure, we’d had a few drinks, but neither one of us got anywhere past slightly tipsy. We’d danced and drank enough to get buzzed and spent more than a little bit of time talking, and somehow that had all been enough for me.

  Before I can decide exactly how I feel about that, I remember exactly what we had been talking about the night before—she was going to talk to the Warners about getting more time with Wyatt. I spin to look at the clock, even though I had just told Daisy it wasn’t quite eleven. She had said she’d talk to them after lunch so that would be, what, one? Two maybe?

  “Are you okay?” Daisy asks, her face concerned. “You look like you just freaked out about something.”

  “I’m fine.” I pull the cereal bowl toward me, figuring there’s no sense in getting too anxious yet. She promised to call me after they’d talked, but I more than likely have a few hours to kill first.

  That task proves eas
ier said than done. I spend the rest of the afternoon basically on pins and needles, wondering what’s going on in that little brick ranch in town. Surely they’ve noticed how well she’s been doing—that has to count for something. And they’d have to be crazy not to get how much she wants this. Once noon hits I figure she must be there for lunch and I start checking my phone every five minutes, expecting a call or a text to share the good news.

  It’s pretty obvious that I’m the only person in the cabin feeling anything like anxiety. Everyone else is too high on the success of the previous night’s show. There’s a lot more smiling and laughing in the house than there was even a week ago. I catch Lennon actually whistling over his sandwich at lunch, which is totally out of character for him. Reed, who has always responded to good news by feeling motivated to work even harder, tries to corral us all into an extra writing session to keep the momentum going but Daltrey tells him in no uncertain terms that we’re entitled to at least twenty-four hours of enjoying our success before we start working again and he’s taking Daisy out on a picnic.

  Honestly, I would have been happy with the extra writing session. I feel like there’s a well of untapped energy in my gut and I know it has nothing to do with our performance the night before. I try to play video games with Paige and Reed for a while but I’m so distracted that I keep getting my head shot off. As the clock ticks toward one my anxiety ramps up. I’ll hear from her in a half hour, I think. Plenty of time for them to finish eating and talk. Maybe right now they’re sitting around, drawing up a new visiting schedule.

  When that half-hour turns to an hour and an hour eventually turns to two without a word from her, my optimism fades. Could they have said no? The very idea makes my blood boil. He’s her kid. I can’t imagine any scenario in which Wyatt would be better off with less contact with Sam.

  By three thirty I decide I can’t take the suspense anymore and shoot off a quick text.

  How’d it go?

  I have to wait ten minutes for her response. Ten minutes during which I seriously consider ignoring her directive and heading to her house, anyhow. Finally my phone buzzes with a message alert.

  It went pretty shitty.

  Damn it.

  They must have said no. How could they have said no? She wasn’t asking for much. I try to remember exactly what she had said last night—an overnight every weekend and two days after school? That was nothing. He’s her son, for God’s sake. And she’s a great mother.

  She won’t be feeling like one right now, I think, frowning. I remember the guilt that would so often cloud her eyes when talking about Wyatt. How clear it is that she blames herself for their separation, how she works herself half crazy trying to prove her worthiness. And those assholes still told her no.

  I wonder where she is right now, what she’s thinking. I close my eyes, trying to picture her and it makes me shudder. I would bet all the money I have in the bank that she’s a mess. And she’s probably alone.

  I tap out a quick reply on my phone. I’m so sorry. Can I come over?

  Another torturous pause.

  I don’t know.

  I frown. Come on Sam. You don’t need to be alone right now.

  When I’m met with another lengthy pause I have to swallow a growl of frustration. She’s closing herself off from me and I hate it. Finally, my phone buzzed again.

  To be totally honest, Cash, I’m not feeling great right now and…I’m worried about that whole bad decision thing, you know? It might not be good for you to be around me.

  Oh, screw that. There’s no way I’m going to leave her alone because she’s scared she might fall back into old patterns and try to seduce me or something. The entire point of all of this is that we’re supposed to be helping each other with these very issues.

  How’s this? You’re not going to make any bad decisions because I’m making plans for the rest of the weekend. I’ll be the decision maker and you can just take a break.

  This time she texts back right away. Planning what for the rest of the weekend?

  Just get ready to go. Pack for overnight.

  Before she can text back all of her doubts and reasons for refusing, I send another message. Just do it, okay? I promise there will be no parties in the pants.

  I hold my breath and then break into a giant grin when I read her response. LOL. So long as there’re no parties in the pants, I will be there.

  I’m grateful none of my brothers are in the room—they’d probably die laughing if they could see the cheesy expression that I’m sure is on my face. Give me an hour.

  I stare down at my phone, feeling a mixture of excitement and fear. She doesn’t have class until Monday afternoon so that gives us almost forty-eight hours to get out of town and get her mind off of things. I get to spend the rest of the weekend with her, almost two whole days, just the two of us. Away from my brothers and Wyatt, uninterrupted time with Sam. I don’t even care that sex stuff has been taken off the table—I’m just excited to see her, to get to talk to her, to try and cheer her up. To have her all to myself.

  I also have no freaking clue what we should do.

  I want this weekend to be perfect, exactly what Sam needs. But what if I can’t do that? I’ve never done this before, the big romantic gesture. I’ve never spent any time thinking about what a girl I’m seeing might like to do, what might make her happy just for the sake of making her happy. It’s always been about doing the bare minimum to get them into bed. The stakes are a lot higher with this—I need it to be fun and exciting enough to get her mind off of Wyatt but not so overwhelming that she might get freaked out.

  Daisy, I think, feeling a rush of hope. Daisy will help me. And if I’m very lucky she might not make fun of me while doing it.

  I go off in search of her, my nerves growing.

  I find Daisy in the movie room and groan out loud when I realize Paige is with her. The last thing I need is someone telling me I should take Sam to the Worlds Largest Ball of Wax, or whatever the hell Paige would think is fun.

  “Dais?” I wince at the sound of my voice, all nervous and high pitched. God, when did I turn into such a puss?

  “Cash!” She grins up at me happily, and Paige pauses the movie. She seems awful chipper for being interrupted. I notice a half empty bottle of Merlot sitting between the girls and it occurs to me that Daisy might be slightly tipsy. “You want to watch something with us?”

  “I actually want to talk to you for a minute.” I glance over at Paige, wondering how I can get Daisy out of the room without being rude. “Will you come upstairs with me.”

  “Sure we will,” Paige says, completely oblivious.

  “Uh…I actually just need Daisy.”

  Paige pouts. “Why? You said you wanted to talk. I’m a great talker.”

  Oh, Jesus. I told Sam I’d be there in an hour and I’m running out of time. “Fine. Maybe you can both help me.” I hold up a hand in warning. “But I don’t want this getting back to my brothers, okay?”

  “Ooh, a secret mission!” Paige clapped her hands. “I’m totally in!”

  “Is this about Sam?” Daisy asks. I gape at her.

  “How did you know?”

  They share a meaningful glance that I can’t read, that same little glint I saw in Daisy’s eyes at breakfast. “It doesn’t matter. What do you need?”

  “Okay, so Sam’s having a really bad day and I want to get her out of town for the rest of the weekend. I want it to be really awesome for her, to get her mind off things. But…” I swallow. “I have no idea how to plan something like this.”

  “Oh my God,” Paige cries, clapping her hands again. “We can totally help! I’m awesome at planning surprises.”

  Daisy takes one look at my face and starts giggling. “Don’t worry—no tea pot museums.”

  “Thank you.”

  The girls turn the movie off and instruct me to meet them in Daisy and Daltrey’s room in two minutes. “Why two minutes?”

  “Because.” Paige looks at me
like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a secret mission. Do you want anyone to see you going into Daisy’s room for no reason?”

  I can usually handle Paige’s distinct brand of enthusiasm but today I’m having difficulty keeping from flipping out on her. Since I really do need their help, I wait a full two minutes before joining them in Daisy’s room. When I get there she’s stretched out on her bed, laptop open in front of her, and Paige is sitting on the floor, tapping on a tablet. I take a seat in the armchair across from them, wondering if this was a mistake. To say that Paige has a tendency to get out of hand is an understatement, and tipsy Daisy is a total wild card. What in the hell are they going to come up with?

  “The question is,” Paige says, her voice very serious. “How over-the-top you want to get?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gives me a pitying look. “I mean, you’re freaking loaded, Cash. Like, a legit millionaire. That means your options are basically limitless. You want to take her hiking in the mountains? You want to get a nice hotel room in Seattle? You want to hire a private jet to shuttle her down to San Francisco? Or Vegas? ‘Cause you can do any of those things.” She rubs her fingertips together. “Like I said, loaded.”

  “That’s a good point.” My mind is whirring with ideas. The realization that I’m only bound by my imagination is kind of cool—I can afford to give her something fantastic, and I have the pull to make it happen on short notice.

  “What does she like?” Daisy asks. “What are her passions?”

  “She loves musical theater,” I say automatically, rolling my eyes. I can’t think of anything worse than watching a bunch of dudes prancing around on stage in costumes, singing and dancing. “And soccer. She loves soccer. And art museums. And antiques. And weird history anecdotes. Oh, and she gets a kick out of astrology and fortune telling. Just for fun.”

  I look up and both Daisy and Paige are looking at me with their mouths slightly agape. “Wow,” Daisy finally says. “You really do know her.”

  She’s right, of course. I may have only met her a month ago, but I definitely know Sam. In fact, I realize, I know her well enough to plan a weekend just for her—without any help.